Reckless Souls (Saints Academy, #1)(4)

one by one, but not me. Never me.

A shiver rattles its way through my body at the helplessness I felt growing up. Fuck, I need a stiff

drink and a movie. Something fun. Something to distract me from my reality. Something to pull me out

of this funk I’ve slipped into because of Dante being a cheating scumbag.

Dante was more of a friends with benefits situation than a relationship, but fuck, he was at least a

constant in my life. The only one, a clear reminder to rely on no one but myself. Screw everyone else.

My favorite Chinese restaurant, Peacock, comes into view on the corner of my street, and the

thought of dipping into my measly savings to splurge on a chicken lo mein fills me with a little bit of

joy. It’s a birthday treat, break up fix, and overall happiness gift to myself, and I deserve it. But before

I can indulge and spoil myself a little, I need to run home and raid my savings jar.

I smile at the old guy that lives across the street, sitting in his rocking chair out front without a

care in the world. Always a story to tell and a smile on his face. He’s in his late seventies now. You’d

expect him to be as miserable as the rest of us, since he lived through the dreaded war, but I don’t

think I actually know a happier person. The slight tingling of warmth spreads through my chest at the

realization.

I can sense words on the tip of his tongue, and quickly pull my earphones out.

“Happy birthday, child,” he sings from across the street, making my steps stutter, but I manage to

cover the mishap as I grin at him.

“Thank you, Al,” I reply, stunned that he knows it’s my birthday, but I must have mentioned it

before. I’ve lived here ever since I was kicked out of the orphanage at eighteen, four years ago, and I

don’t recall him saying it before, but I shrug it off, offering a wave as I turn to my front door.

The wooden boards that replaced the glass are a stark reminder of how deteriorated the building

is. Updating infrastructure in the lower income areas was never a priority.

Entering the pin into the dated locking system at the door, I step inside, the damp, moldy scent

instantly hitting my nose, making me cringe. You’d think I would have become immune to the smell

after all this time, but if anything, it gets worse every day. I wonder if any of my neighbors feel the

same? Doesn’t matter though because nothing will be done about it anyway.

The building holds six individual apartments, but none of the other residents are around. Thank the

Gods. I don’t need a fake, meaningless conversation right now. As tough as I’m trying to be, I’m still

disappointed, hurt, by today’s revelations, and talking about the weather is only going to irritate me.

Which will only make me a snippy bitch, and none of us want that today.

The elevator has never worked, and of course I’m on the top floor. So, I take a deep breath, ready

to trudge up the dirty green carpeted stairs, but an envelope peeking out of my mailbox makes me

pause.

Mail?

I don’t ever get mail unless it’s an overdue bill, and I’ve been on top of that lately. What the fuck

could it be?

Frowning, I detour to the wall of mailboxes, pulling my key from my pocket to open it, only to

find another envelope inside too. Well fuck.

Worry crinkles my eyes as I reach for them both, tucking them under my arm before racing up the

three flights of stairs. Sweat trickles down my spine from the movement and heat combining, and

there’s no reprieve when I step inside my apartment since the air conditioning is broken.

I’m met with a blast of humidity, the heavy air causing a bit of tightness in my lungs. I take a look

around my tiny apartment. The front door opens to reveal the mini kitchen to my right, with my sofa

set up to the left, which pulls out as my bed, leaving the door to the left as my bathroom. The

windows straight ahead offer a pitiful view since I’m overlooking the back of the property, staring at

the brick wall of the neighboring building. Natural sunlight isn’t really a privilege for me in here,

that’s a fact.

Moving to the small refrigerator in my kitchen, I swing the freezer door open and stick my head in

the cold space for a second to cool down. A shiver runs through me at the drastic change in

temperature, my lungs protesting at the cool air. Taking one final gulp, I take a step back, glancing

down at the letters in my hand.

When they don’t magically reveal their contents, no pun intended, I open the top white one first, a

birthday card slipping out. A pretty purple butterfly decorates the front page, Happy Birthday, written

intricately along the top, but when I open it, there’s no indication of who or where it came from. It

simply reads,

To Rhea

Happy 22nd Birthday

Best of luck

Uhh… thanks, Mr. Invisible?

I stand it up on the laminate countertop, the only card I have, before moving onto the other letter.

The envelope is almost gold compared to the first, the quality feeling thicker, pricier. Sliding open the

flap, my frown deepens when an official document falls out.

My eyes scan over the words as I unfold the paper, making my heart gallop in my chest. I try to